


Trophy (thunderfrosthawk smut drabble)

by mageprinceloki



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Multi, Teasing, Threesome, dub-con, thunderfrosthawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageprinceloki/pseuds/mageprinceloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has taken the throne and Clint is now the captain of his guard. Thor, no longer serving as prince of Asgard, is a well-treated and pampered prisoner... in part because Clint finds him an attractive addition to the palace.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophy (thunderfrosthawk smut drabble)

   The god of thunder was, just as Clint had suggested, a truly glorious decoration. Hands bound to the headboard with shackles that even he couldn’t break, his tanned, stretched form was an absolute work of art, from the broad curves of his thighs as he knelt on the thick fur bedding to the neat plaits that held back his golden hair. The metal on his wrists and angular, gleaming muzzle that Loki himself had been fitted with were his only ornamentation; there he knelt and there he stayed, the proudest warrior of Asgard, master of storms and prince of the Realm Eternal, now reduced to a mere plaything, and the blazing contempt of his azure gaze showed exactly what he thought about that change in rank.  
  
   Still, the evening had barely started, and the bed Loki shared with his servant—no, more than simply that, the captain of his guard and the only mortal worthy of his trust—was a haven of sensual promise that would surely change their captive’s perspective before they were finished. He didn’t doubt that.  
  
   Slipping out of his robe, he ignored its fall to join the larger man on the bed, legs wide to brace himself as he fastened an unadorned band of glistening black around Thor’s tense, corded neck. Green eyes glittered at the sight, and though the god shook his head quickly in denial of the snug warmth, he stilled himself again with a sigh. The trickster wondered if it was from resignation, or some deeply buried desire. He could privately imagine that it was the latter, at least—that thought made him smile.  
  
   Beside him, Barton uncorked a bottle of oil, the dizzying, spicy sweetness of its scent clearly drawing his attention and his curiosity, though he seemed too struck by it to even ask its relevance. His king smirked at the reaction, stealing the oddly-shaped vial from his weakened fingers and tipping a little into one palm before closing it again.  
  
   ”A subtle trick, favored by the Alfar,” he murmured, rubbing the liquid between his hands to warm it, then massaging it into the lithe, compact muscle of his servant’s arms and torso, the heels of his hands grinding across small, dark nipples. A faintly ruddy tint slowly began to spread beneath the skin as the archer’s eyes drifted shut, full lips parting in a soft “oh” of surprise at the tingling warmth.  
  
   Turning coyly back to Thor, he saw the understanding in his eyes and watched the collar bob quickly up and down in a nervous gulp. His own hands still slick, he winked and passed the oil back to Clint, pride welling within him at the impish look in those gunmetal eyes.  
  
   Brawny form tensed and blue eyes closed, the Aesir stoically endured as two sets of hands, one pale, long-fingered, and sleek, the other small, nimble, and strong, worked the heady balm into broad, hard muscles with thorough and meticulous care. A shiver coursed through him, goosebumps dotting his golden skin as he drew a deep, shaky breath to clear his head. That he’d secretly wanted to bed both men at various points didn’t help much, but the wretched, fae-cursed  _heat_  covering his skin was his undoing now; it sank in deeper, clawing its way inside him until his clenched thighs trembled and every slow breath vibrated through the muffling gag like a growl of hunger.  
  
   And Barton watched him lose himself with wicked fascination, just as any mortal might do, he imagined, on realizing he now had an enviable degree of power over a god—let alone such an attractive one as this. His sudden smile was one of sheer bravado and erotic impulse as one hand slid lower, lavishing the warm mixture over Thor’s already-hardening length. Reaching wildly for something to grasp, as if it might somehow keep him grounded, the god’s fingers wound briskly around the chains that held him, his handsome face pinched with the effort of simply trying to weather the maddening reaction, to keep some semblance of dignity in front of a former comrade.   
  
   The effort crumbled entirely as he felt the mortal’s soft, cool lips surround the feverish tip of his cock, tongue-tip glancing lightly along the slit. Broad, trembling hands released the chains, head falling back slowly as he completely gave in. He’d wanted Clint well before now, and the combination of having that fantasy made real while the luscious heat pulsed and gathered under his skin was too much for even the god of thunder to continue fighting.  
  
   Meanwhile, Loki deftly worked the thin oil into his brother’s shoulders and back, thumbing it across both small nipples in endless, rolling spirals as he watched the man’s resistance collapse entirely. A devious sort of glee filled him, but only in part from their obvious success. There was more yet to come, but the expression that met those wide blue eyes now was one of such raw and utter lust that he heard a muted gasp reverberate through the metal. Hooking a finger beneath the leather band, he leaned in and licked the polished plate in a wicked mockery of a kiss.  
  
   Clint’s firm, strong fingers cupped and squeezed the delicate sac between Thor’s legs as his head nudged further forward, tongue rolling expertly along the pulsing vein from tip to base as he guided the god’s prick deeper and deeper still. Deft swirls of velvety heat bathed every sensitized inch of skin while his fingers explored beyond, playfully coaxing open the puckered entrance further back and slipping gently inside. The thunderer tensed, spine rigid and breath catching in a throaty sound of unexpected pleasure as the man found his target: The faintly swollen point just inside that could make a man see stars if worked cunningly enough.  
  
   The trickster felt a shudder of sympathy and envy as he realized what had happened, suddenly encouraged to add to the effect, and his brief nails scraped the Aesir’s pebble-hard nipples until they throbbed, only to be soothed again by the press of his lips or the flick of his tongue. In the pauses, he simply whispered to the former prince of all the things they could do and all the things they  _might_  do; a thousand small details all laid out before him in dazzling array, imagination given form through the Silvertongue’s well-chosen words. Every time some new whisper made his brother twitch or whimper under his breath, Loki felt himself harden a little more.  
  
   They clearly made a perfect team, though their tongues worked through differing methods. Clint’s fingers still twisted and curled to stroke that hard, hidden gland as he lapped and greedily sucked, full lips stretched tightly around Thor’s girth in unrelenting waves of silken tension until the god tugged urgently at the bonds, wanting nothing more than to get his hands on them both, to return what was being offered or at least to direct their actions a little, but instead… he could only clutch the metal links until they left imprints on his reddened palms.

   He knelt exactly as he’d been tied, spine arched and head thrown back now, surrendering at last to his brother’s sharp bites and whispered promises as his hips rolled and bucked helplessly toward Barton’s skillful mouth and hands.  
  
   The taste of metal on his tongue was almost overpowering, the roar of his own blood drowning out every sound but the frantic slam of each heartbeat. Sweat-dampened hair tickled the back of his neck, tangled in the band of leather around his throat.  
  
   Pet. Plaything.  _Trophy_.  
  
   His cock pulsed in a single, hard throb that seemed to begin at the base of his spine. Every sweat-slick muscle tightened, and he felt himself clench around those invading, exploring fingers, grinding down to press them harder into the aching sweetness where he needed them most. The sculpted curves of his abdomen fluttered in warning as he took a slow breath, bracing himself for release.  
  
   With a cruel hiss of laughter, Loki pulled his servant away—all source of touch torn from Thor’s trembling body at the very last possible second, and the warrior could only reel in shock as his mind struggled to process the sudden loss.  
  
   Panting in wild-eyed fury as understanding dawned, he thrashed to free himself until the bed itself shook dangerously beneath them. Barton, at least, had the wit to look concerned, but the dark-haired imp only smiled wickedly at the frustrated god.  
  
   ”Shh,” he chided, eyes sparkling with dark mischief. “Behave yourself, and we might let you watch.”  
  
   Unable to restrain himself, Clint made a soft, skeptical sound of humor. Frankly, he’d been almost as into things as Thor had been, and regretted not being able to finish. Not even Loki could keep him from at least touching the gorgeous blond further. “I actually think I’d rather watch  _you_  fuck  _him_ ,” he murmured to the thunderer. Then, to his ‘master,’ “Sir, can we—”  
  
   A rough kiss silenced any further impertinent comments, at least for the moment, and soon they were too caught up in the touch and taste of each other to consider anything further, the oil not quite as maddening to either of them as to an Asgardian by birth, but still enough to heighten their excitement. 

   Clint had a dancer’s physique, the supple flexibility that made every movement a joy to watch, and Loki’s slender, willowy frame flowed over him like water. They fucked like gymnasts, one position melding effortlessly into the next without pause or effort, and the playful roughness between them sometimes broke into moments of breath-taking intensity in which it honestly didn’t matter whose will or endurance proved stronger.  
  
   It was a delight to watch.  
   It was also a torment, and he stared like a starved thing, wanting nothing more in the world than a small taste of what was so flagrantly offered and so completely denied.  
  
   They lay curled on their sides, the trickster’s delicate fingers leaving bruises in the darker skin of his mate’s thigh as he used it for leverage to guide each slow, deep thrust, and finally, after what had seemed like years of only watching, the mortal reached out to rake his nails across Thor’s inner thigh. The god shuddered in longing, straining forward for more until the wood behind him creaked.  
  
   Whispered words, and a sinful pair of matching smiles before Clint knelt in front of him, leaning until his lips touched the skin as Loki re-penetrated. His whimper of shock was muffled against the god’s torso, one hand gripping his shoulder for balance while the other danced quickly up and down his own cock, so near to Thor’s own purple-tipped length that the knuckles brushed it maddeningly.   
  
   Holding the curves of his hips for traction, Loki fucked the archer like he intended to snap him in half, and Clint half-moaned, half-howled his approval, panting against Thor’s sweat-salted skin. His hand fisted harder, eyes clenched tight and compact frame jolted by each new thrust as the pressure rapidly mounted.  
  
   It was too frantic to sustain for long, and a desperate strain now defined all three of them; Loki’s to achieve his own climax, the archer to ride that thin line between pain and pleasure, and Thor to simply feel the rough, quickened brush and bump of the other man’s movements for just long enough…  
  
   The trickster arched hard, his cries echoing off the walls as he drove in deeper, then curled to bite and hiss against Barton’s neck as the man whipped back against him in turn, cursing and moaning and burying his face in the feverish heat of Thor’s skin.  
  
   Still panting, they all gazed down at the sticky spill of Clint’s seed, coating the taut skin of the thunder god’s aching length. He pulled free, curling lower, and lapped at the wetness, Loki joining the effort quickly until their lips met, tongues dancing around the Aesir’s hardness until it was clean again, and all the while Thor could only groan and thrash in desperation for more.  
  
    The thunderer’s face was still red with exertion and frustration, eyes bright above the dull muzzle with something that could either have been anger or desire—more probably a combination of the two.  
  
   Lazily, Loki called for the guards to lead him away again, hands re-bound behind him and a robe loosely draped across his broad shoulders. It did nothing to conceal his obvious arousal, but it wasn’t really meant to, and the god seemed entirely unashamed in any event.  
  
   He had little enough reason to be; based on the admiring glances, Mjolnir was clearly no longer judged the most impressive tool that the thunder god wielded.

**Author's Note:**

> (There will be a sequel to this, no worries--Thor won't be left unattended to for very long. >:3)


End file.
